Through the Ashes
by Raptor521
Summary: Theramod is a Drell forced into working for the Hanar government, bound by his races debt to them. Trained in the art of murder from a young age he is a skilled warrior whose skill is rivaled by almost no one. A simple scouting assignment on Tuchanka drags him into a sinister coup that threatens to flip the balance of power on the war torn planet.
1. Chapter 1 - A Blood Stained Signature

Chapter 1

A Blood-Stained Signature

The old stone fort stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of the brutal Tuchankan desert, not because it was a fort, Tuchanka was packed full of them, most of them abandoned. This one however was alive with activity; a shuttle was docked in a courtyard in the back and mercs were constantly patrolling and unloading crates that were backed into the backs of Tomkahs. This wasn't out of the norm either, what set this fort apart was its occupants, which were a strange mix of Krogan, Vorcha, Batarian, and Human. They were all wearing Bloodpack and Blue Suns armor, but painted black as night, instead of the red and blue they would've been. Even with all these things, the strangest thing was two Krogan walking down the empty corridors of the fort, escorting a Drell who was standing in between them. The Drell distracted himself with the cadence of their footsteps; how the slow, heavy thuds of the Krogan's footsteps perfectly synced with his quicker staccato ones. Even though he tried distracting himself he glanced around nervously, the tan of the stone reflected dully in his black eyes. He nervously reached to scratch the back of his head, but quickly retracted his hand as it ran over the lump on the back of his head, the relatively large wound just now scabbing over. The trio advanced down the ancient fort's stone corridor. The Drell's skin was a pale, almost sickly looking greyish-green, paler than most Drell, sharply contrasted by the dark emerald green inverted pentagon marking in the middle of his forehead, and a similarly colored patch running across the top of his down onto the back of his head. The reddish patch of soft flesh on the throat, segmented off by raised spines, like all Drell have, was particularly vibrantly colored, also contrasting the sickly appearance of his skin tone.

One of the Krogan regarded all of this with disgust, then spoke, his gruff voice breaking the cadence of their footsteps. "What's a Drell doing on Tuchanka anyways? You look like you got that Kepral's Disease. Shouldn't you be off praying somewhere?" The Krogan made no attempt to hide his resentment, though he didn't really have to put it in his voice. The snide remarks about Kepral's Syndrome and the Drell's religiousness pissed the Drell off enough without the tone.

The Drell quickly replied emotionlessly. "I'm here on business."

The Krogan scoffed, while his comrade decided to harass the smaller life form as well. "You sure you didn't just come here 'coz you miss your homeworld? You know the one that's dead? From what I heard it was just like Tuchanka, all desert."

The Drell, just as emotionlessly as before stated, "I've never been to Rakhana, and I'm just here on business."

The first Krogan piped up again, "Oh, then what business could someone like you be doing here? Did you want to see what a real warrior looks like? Maybe you already did, I see something bashed open the back of your tiny skull."

The Drell, with an almost joking tone replied, "Something didn't bash in my skull, I just fell in the shower."

The Krogan hesitated for a moment, and then asked, "What's a shower?"

The Drell grinned inwardly. _Fucking barbarian… _he thought to himself.

The instigating Krogan, trying to heal his broken pride, and still not fully grasping what a shower is, said, "Maybe if you Drell actually had decent reflexes you wouldn't have got your head smashed up"

The Drell, with only a hint of his inner rage showing in his voice retorted with, "I don't think your superiors would be happy with you if you drove a customer away with smart ass remarks."

That struck a nerve within the Krogan, and he stopped, grabbed the Drell's arm and snarled, "I don't think your bones would, appreciate it, if I broke them either!" The Drell regarded him in silence. The Krogan had his 7 foot body hunched over so he was eye to eye with The Drell, his tan face twisted in a grimace of anger. The Drell noticed that The Krogan's hide was marked with green, with no signs of red showing yet, a sign of a younger Krogan. The Drell stared straight into The Krogan's eyes, which were set far apart, an adaptation from living on Tuchanka. They had 240 degree vision, perfect for hunting.

_They think just because they were built as predators means that they can't become the prey, but only too late do they realize that they can, _the Drell thought. He could see the Red Haze creeping into the sides of his vision. He was about a second away from showing these bastards what fear was.

Suddenly, a voice came over The Krogan's radio, "I hope you aren't harassing another client Krall."

_His name's Krall? Why do Krogan have such fucking ugly, stupid names, _the Drell thought about the giant tower of meat gripping his arm.

Krall hesitated, looking confused, then released The Drell's arm and reached up and touched his earpiece. "No sir, Chrekom. We're bringing him to you to finish the transaction now." The reply was inaudible.

Krall looked at The Drell, who, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to humiliate a Krogan, commented with a smirk, "After you." Krall almost struck the smart-ass Drell, though he decided against it, and continued down the corridor with the other Krogan and their "customer." After 5 more minutes of walking and 2 flights of steps they reached their destination, the main room of the fort. The small room was completely gutted. They were probably going to move in more high-tech computers. On the far side of the room a Batarian stood, entering information into his datapad. There was no light from the datapad's display reflecting in any of the Batarian's four pitch black eyes. His dull yellow skin looked almost dead in the dull light of the base. He looked completely calm, despite the risks of operating on Tuchanka, even in a fort full of mercs.

_Is this asshole really this unafraid? No matter. If all goes well these plagues of life will be dead soon. _Theramod's urge to wipe these bastards from the face of this Hellhole of a planet was almost unbearable. Standing battle ready on the left side were three Vorcha bodyguards, two were on the right. Their reddish orange eyes contained their viciousness. Theramod made eye contact with one and he bared his teeth; the brutal looking, sharp teeth carved a yellow abyss into the charcoal grey skin that surrounded his mouth. The veins on his neck and across his face bulged has he hissed. Theramod scoffed at the pest's pitiful attempt to intimidate him.

_Who would honestly be afraid of these little five foot tall piss ants? Sure they have the features of a childhood monster; sharp teeth, red eyes, pale skin, and those long spikes sticking out of the ridge going across the back of their head, but damn are these Vorcha pitiful fighters! _ As they reached the Batarian the 2 escorts took up positions to the back and behind the Batarian and held their M-300 Claymore shotguns in front of their waists to oversee the payment. After 30 long seconds, the Batarian finally looked up.

"You Theramod Anelay?" the Batarian, who was obviously the voice over the radio, Chrekom, asked.

"Yes," Theramod answered.

Chrekom pressed a couple buttons on the datapad, "And it says here that you need shuttle transportation to The Citadel?" Chrekom asked.

Theramod quickly answered, "That is correct."

Chrekom hit one more button, then said very business-like, "The price for one way is 50,000 credits."

Theramod let his mouth drop open for a second, then, with as much surprise as possible, said, "Fifty thousand!? That's outrageous!"

Chrekom shrugged, his eight nostrils flaring as he let out a silent sigh, and then he said very businesslike, "That was the price agreed on when you contacted us. Pay up, or you'll have to find a new way off of Tuchanka."

Theramod let out his own sigh, and said, exasperated, "Fine, here are your damn credits." He reached into his pocket with his left hand, but instead of a credit chit, he produced a frag grenade, and started counting the seconds.

Second one. He jammed the grenade into Chrekom's stomach, pressed the button, grabbed the M-25 Hornet at Chrekom's waist, held his breath, and pushed. His left arm glowing blue from fingertips to shoulder from the biotics, threw Balkon backwards at 40 MPH, the Hornet tearing away from his holster, the grenade still jammed into his stomach. The 2 Krogan flew backwards as well, caught in the throw field Theramod generated. Theramod twisted to the right, flipping the Hornet around in his right hand around into a firing position. He fired two bursts at the Vorcha to his right, on each one riding the recoil up the Vorcha's body, hitting upper chest, throat, and then right between the eyes.

Second two. They began to drop in unison. The Krogans and Batarian were halfway to the far wall. Theramod reached into his pocket again, produced a lift grenade, and chucked it like a baseball at the Vorcha on the right.

Second three. The Krogans and Batarian made contact with the far wall, it cracking under the pressure. The lift grenade made contact with the middle Vorcha and detonated, killing him instantly. The other two were thrown into the ceiling, shattering their bones. The grenade embedded in Chrekom's stomach detonated, vaporizing him. The two Krogan were thrown, dead, away from the newly formed hole in the far wall.

Second four. Theramod put up his biotic barrier and sprinted towards the hole, using small amounts of the field from the barrier to increase his sprint speed to almost 25 MPH, his eyes fixated on the UT-47 Kodiak Shuttle.

Second five. He was close enough to the hole to look out at most of the courtyard 30 feet below, and upon seeing the congregation of soldiers he tossed the Hornet into his left hand, freeing his right arm, which had much more powerful biotic implants, for his next move.

Second six. He planted his foot firmly, generated a strong biotic field, and launched himself through the hole, gathering all of the power in his barriers around his fist. Intensely strong biotic pulses shot up and down his arm rapidly, looking almost like blue lightning as he generated the power, he looked down at the open area in front of him, selected his target, the largest Krogan there, and plummeted.

Second seven. Theramod made contact with the Krogan at just less than 60 MPH from 30 feet up, his fist planted firmly in the Krogan's faceplate, the Krogan flipped onto his back, and when he was flush with the ground, the biotic wave Theramod was generating detonated into a powerful nova pulse, though the power was much more than Theramod expected.

Second eight. The Krogan he landed on was a biotic as well, and the nova wave detonated the strong Element Zero implants present in his body. The Krogan vanished into a thick orange mist. The tan stone underneath him shattering under the immense pressure the Mass Effect field created. The surrounding Batarians and Humans in a three meter radius were reduced to hunks of meat, thrown outwards. The Krogans in this radius were tossed, their bones and outer-plating cracking from the force while the Vorcha were shattered, their hard skin and shards of bone flung fast like shrapnel outwards. Five meters past that the mercs were thrown, being pelted with chunks of meat, torrents of blood, and impaled by chunks of bone.

Second nine. Theramod made contact with the actual ground and took off towards the shuttle in a dead sprint, now getting ready for take-off; a Batarian was standing in the open door. Theramod still had just barely enough concentration left to continue to biotically boost his speed.

Second ten. The shuttle was Ten feet off the ground, the Batarian reaching for the door control. Mercs in the surrounding area were raising their rifles to fire.

Second eleven. Theramod was fifteen feet away from the shuttle, still sprinting. He planted his foot, and generating all the power he could, leapt with incredible force towards the Batarian in the doorway.

Second twelve. The Batarian froze dead in his tracks, looking straight into Theramod's eyes, the Drell's fury projecting outwards like two freight trains, the man himself already covered half the distance to the shuttle. Theramod reached towards his back. His hand found purchase on the hilt of his sword, concealed in its sheath under his loose fitting black jacket. He drew it. No sun glared off of the blade of the sword, it's blade as black as midnight. Its blade was that of a Scimitar, the double edged piece of cold metal curved menacingly, edged on both sides and the blade on top transformed into wicked serrations halfway down, designed to tear upwards after a stab. Dark blue lines of Element Zero ran through the blade and outlined the razor sharp edges.

Second Thirteen. Theramod's hand began to glow as he summoned his biotics again. The Element Zero in the blade reacted, and a field grew tight around the blade, the blue aura swirling around the dark blade like an enraged spirit. Theramod reached the shuttle, swung the sword with all his strength, and with the help of the Mass Effect field, slashed the Batarian at the waist with 2000 pounds of force, splitting him in half cleanly. Blood sprayed throughout the interior of the shuttle

Second fourteen. The Batarian's two halves fell out of the doorway. Theramod lunged at the back of the pilots chair and plunged his sword through the back, and fearing the mercs on the ground might damage the shuttle he left the sword in the pilot's back and jumped into the co-pilot's seat.

Second fifteen. Theramod released his breath as he hit the override and piloted the shuttle into the sky.

Exhausted nearly to the point of passing out, he flew out of Tuchanka's atmosphere. He heard a cough to his left and with his left hand drew his Hornet, and fired toward the sound. He heard the original pilot's head explode from the burst. He continued piloting, eyes straight ahead until he figured out how to set the autopilot's course for the System's Relay. Once the Autopilot took over he stood up walked around to the back of the pilot's chair, pulled his sword out of the back and sheathed it. He then sat back down in the co-pilots chair, closed his eyes, and let his mind drift into the memory of the previous day.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Red

Chapter 2

The Red

"Theramod…Theramod wake up!" a Drell's crackly voice echoed throughout the cargo container in the hold of the small freighter. Theramod's eyes shot open as was startled out of his sleep, and he grabbed the hilt of the short-sword by the rolled up cloth he had been using as a pillow, ready to kill if necessary.

"Am I really that unpleasant to be around? This is our first mission together in seven months and you are already about to kill me, with my own blade as well! Am I not fortunate to have a little brother like you!?" The Drell's voice rang out again, with blatant sarcasm, and Theramod released the hilt of the blade.

"Well, Kaltiak, when you are trained as a killer for 16 years, you develop some of the instincts of a killer. Makes sense doesn't it?" Theramod responded equally sarcastically.

Kaltiak smiled and said, "They trained you? I thought the Hanar just gave you free board until they finally figured out that you're not mentally retarded, so now you're working off your rent."

Theramod wanted to retort with a hearty "FUCK YOU!" but being a smartass is just too much fun he decided. "Yeah, you're right. I'm just naturally this talented at what I do." Theramod grinned smugly.

"Well you must be. I know how little you worked when you lived with the Hanar," Kaltiak said with false hostility.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm a lazy bastard," Theramod stood up and cracked his back. "Don't you think you could've bribed our way onto a freighter that was shipping bedding?" Theramod asked.

"That would've been too much of a luxury for us to afford, don't you think brother?" Kaltiak said.

"What do you care? The Illuminated Primacy is the one paying for it, and what do they need all their money for? They're just a bunch of big stupid jellyfish!" Theramod said in a joking tone.

"Theramod! You should show respect to the Hanar, if it wasn't for them the Drell would be all dead." Kaltiak scolded.

"Relax Kaltiak, we wouldn't all be dead…there are still pockets of survivors on Rahkana." Theramod said with a rebellious, yet still joking tone. Kaltiak just sighed at his brother. "I'm only kidding Kaltiak. You need to chill out a little bit." Theramod said.

"I know you I just worry about you." Kaltiak replied, sounding almost like a father.

"You of all people should know I can take care of myself. Just because you're older doesn't mean that you have to babysit me." Theramod said with an almost annoyed tone.

"I just want to keep you in the lines of the Hanar's tolerance," Kaltiak's voice had suddenly taken on a melancholic tone.

"Their tolerance? Brother, they have too much invested in me to get rid of me." Theramod hated when Kaltiak spoke as though the Hanar saw him as disposable.

Kaltiak continued to push, not realizing the anger in Theramod's voice, "They would rather get rid of you than constantly run damage control over the messes you create. And you know working for them is the only choice you have…"

Theramod spun to look at his brother, "Of course it's the only choice I have," his voice had begun to climb in volume as Kaltiak's statement turned the valve on Theramod's inner self, "Don't you think I fucking know that? The Hanar have owned me since I was six. I couldn't take care of myself when Mother and Father died, and you were too busy playing soldier to come home, so the Hanar picked me up and turned me into a tool. You know I'd give anything to end my servitude to them, but every fucking time you're around you have to remind me that being their tool to use wherever they like is the only choice I have in life." Theramod spoke in a cool tone of voice, but Kaltiak could see the red boiling up into his eyes.

He just stood there for a moment, looking his brother right in the eyes. He let out a final sigh and said with just a small hint of his disappointment betraying him and showing in his voice, "I wish you didn't swear so much…" Theramod relaxed a little bit, the rage slowly leaving his mind as he felt ashamed for snapping like he had. The stress had been getting to him recently. He bent over and picked up the short-sword, its hilt wrapped in dark leather, matching the pitch black 12 inch Kris style blade, dark blue lines of Eezo snaking along the twisting edges.

"I know the Enkindlers must be so proud of your proper language, but since I know you don't want to meet them just yet don't forget your knife." Theramod said, the playful sarcasm returning to his voice. "By the way, how old is this thing?"

Kaltiak looked at the knife with respect, sheathed it at its spot across his lower back, and spoke up, "It dates back to before the exodus of Rakhana, though the Element Zero was added to the blade by the Hanar afterwards. I believe it was made by our great-great-great-great…"

Theramod raised his hand and quickly said, "Okay, I get it. It's really fucking old."

Kaltiak smirked. "I guess I'm just picking up your smart attitude." Kaltiak said, "But we need to get moving. The freighter docked 10 minutes ago."

Theramod reached up and touched the hilt of his sword making sure it was there as he always does. "You know, you probably shouldn't sleep with that thing on your back, you might wake up with it through your stomach." Kaltiak said.

"You worry too much." Theramod said, and headed out the door, his brother close behind. They maneuvered through the ship, and out the bulkhead into the Krogan camp, Theramod looked around and something caught his eye; a Krogan sitting on a makeshift throne. Deep scars ran down the right side of his face, his hide was over halfway turned from red to brown, signifying how old he was.

_What's so special about him? _Theramod thought.

As if he could read his mind, Kaltiak put his hand on Theramod's should and said rather quietly "That Krogan helped save the galaxy a year back. He helped Shepard defeat Saren, and now he's the leader of Clan Urdnot. Heard he's trying to unite the Krogan Clans too."

"I bet deep down he's just merc scum with big ambitions."

They had walked for 25 minutes in silence, and as they walked through a path between 2 massive sand ridges Kaltiak broke it, "When are you going to tell me what happened that day...you know, with our parents?"

Theramod stopped and tensed, he knew he'd have to tell Kaltiak at some point, and after 18 years it seems he was out of excuses not to. On any other mission they were too busy getting drunk and killing people for this to come up, but now, in the middle of desert the truth was about to come out, but just as Theramod went to open his mouth to speak, a round object landed in front of them, and Theramod immediately tackled Kaltiak to the ground, putting up a biotic barrier that surrounded both of them, just as the grenade exploded. Theramod and Kaltiak were tossed like ragdolls backwards, blue pulses flying out in all directions from the overloaded barrier and giant lumps of Tuchankan sand raining down from the blast. Theramod sprang to his feet, reaching towards the hilt of the sword on his back, but just before his hand reached the hilt, he was knocked to the ground with a brutal overhanded swing from behind him. Theramod could not see the attackers, but he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He charged up his biotics and began to get back up as a swift punt kick to his ribs launched him almost 3 feet up into the air. All of the air was knocked out of his lungs and he couldn't breathe in as he crashed back down into the sand. Another hard kick to the back of his skull made Theramod decided that it would be better to stay down. Blood ran down the back of his head onto his face and into his eyes.

He was picked up by three of the attackers, which he could now see. They were all Krogan clad in Bloodpack armor that was painted jet black. He looked to his left and could see Kaltiak. He was just as beat up as Theramod, but he was out cold. After the Krogan lugged their prisoners up the ridge they were chucked into two separate metal boxes with locks on them. The hinges shrieked as the doors were slammed shut, and then came the black. Not just the physical black of the cage, but Theramod's inner blackness. The Blackness that blinded his senses; The Blackness that killed his thoughts; The Blackness that emptied out everything in his mind and left it blank…except for The Burning Red. The Red that built up inside, that pulsed behind his eyes, that crept into his vision. The Red that demanded blood. The Red that burned his very mind. The Red that fueled his existence. The Burning Red that was his inner demon, which he could call upon for strength when he had none, that would push him through anything that stood in his way, that would not rest until The Burning Red had obliterated everything in its path.

The third hour brought the movement to a halt; the boxes were unloaded. Soft pings of a code being punched in echoed inside the cage and interrupted the cadence of the pulsing of The Red. The door opened and a gruff voice sent out a demand from inside the blinding light of the outside; "Get out."

Theramod crawled out and stood up. Two Krogan's had M-76 Revenant light machine guns trained on him, the red painted metal shone under the sun, sharply contrasted by their armor. It was black as night, even in the bright sunlight. They wore helmets so no facial features could be made out. Three more surrounded the opening of Kaltiak's cage; in the front was the leader who wore no helmet and bore the armor of a Battlemaster. He had an M-5 Phalanx handgun with a heavy extended barrel trained on the opening as the command was repeated. Kaltiak too climbed out, and stood up. The leader, also the oldest of the group, the red on his thick hide almost fully being replaced by the brown elder Krogan bore, barked out another order, "Restrain him."

The Krogan on his left approached Kaltiak. Kaltiak immediately drew his Kris and plunged it deep into the Krogan's chest. He ripped the blade up and out. He then swung at the leader. The Elder raised his Phalanx as if to block the slice, but the 12 inch blade powered by Kaltiak's biotics sliced through the barrel like it was butter. He swung the blade back, slicing across the headplate of the Elder, but not even drawing blood. The Elder retaliated with a vicious hook punch to Kaltiak's side, and then an overhanded swing down onto the top of Kaltiak's skull with the butt of the Phalanx. The sickening crack echoed through Theramod's ears as he looked on. His mind went black as everything happened in slow motion; Kaltiak fell to the ground and then began to lift his head up, then the elder Krogan leveled his handgun at him, and pulled the trigger. Kaltiak's head recoiled backwards from the impact, the shot rang out. Then the black gave into Red.

Theramod sprung up, none of the Krogan having time to react, their attention being trained on Kaltiak. Theramod hopped three feet into the air, brought his right leg up high, and brought it down with every ounce of strength he had in a devastating axe kick to the top of the Elder's headplate. It split, and the popping echoed throughout the ruins, sounding as though a thousand bones had been snapped at once, and the Elder fell to the ground, seemingly dead. Theramod, using the resistance offered by the Krogans skull performed a backflip back towards the 2 Krogans that were guarding his cage. Theramod landed right in front of the Krogan. They hesitated, almost stunned by the look of pure rage carved into his stone cold face. The Krogan must've thought this was the red hot uncontrollable rage of a weak person who lost their temper. They were half right, the rage was burning scorching hot in the inside, but as it reached the surface it was cold, the kind of anger that could be grasped and shaped into a weapon. A hellish, shit-eating grin warped the Drell's once stoic face into a look of demonic euphoria at the destruction Theramod was going to inflict upon his helpless victims who had him surrounded. A blood red biotic aura began to surround him; The Burning Red extended its claws out in search of victims. As the crimson mist began to swirl around him Theramod extended both arms, fists clenched, towards the Krogan, and just as they raised their rifles to fire Theramod unclenched his fists and let loose two almost solid balls of pure force. They rocketed towards the giant predators, who were just now realizing that they were now the prey. The biotics made contact, sending both Krogan flying across the ruins, their midsections almost shattered open. Theramod turned to see the last standing Krogan, whose Revenant came to life firing at Theramod. The Krogan bullets smashed into the swirling crimson surrounding Theramod. The biotics became little perfect circles where the bullets impacted, the tungsten slugs turning instantly to dust. Theramod swung his arm as though he were throwing a baseball, but instead of a ball, a reave field was launched into the Krogan. He toppled over as his nervous system was almost instantly shredded, and he curled up uncontrollably into a ball, screaming, and clutching the rifle which was still firing. Theramod, thinking the fight was over turned and began to walk away. He just barely heard the thuds of rapidly approaching footsteps, and turned just in time to face the impact.

Theramod was tossed through the air and landed with a crash on the hard stone. He began to get up, but then rolled just in time to roll to avoid the Elder Krogan's second charge. Theramod reached to his back and pulled out his sword, the Eezo contained inside instantly coming to life at his touch, glowing a vivid crimson, giving its proper respect to The Burning Red. The Drell stood perfectly straight, blade at his side, ready to fight. The Elder Krogan brandished his own blade, a 2 foot serrated broadsword, though in reality it was just a combat knife by Krogan standards. The dark silver metal shone menacingly. The Krogan changed his stance and grinned, orange blood from his cracked headplate dripping down both sides of his face; the daze from the impact still clouding his eyes. Then he charged for the third and final time. Theramod stood his ground, waited for the right time, and struck out with a wide horizontal slash as he sidestepped the charging mass. The blood red trail from the biotics mirrored the path his blade took. The Elder took 2 more steps as his sword clattered to the ground, in 2 separate pieces. The Elder opened his mouth as if to yell, but no sound emerged from his gaping mouth, just a torrent of orange blood that shot onto the ground in front of him. He fell over onto his back; the giant wound across his chest exposed both his still beating hearts to the Tuchankan sky. Blood spurted out in many large streams from just as many lacerations across his hearts, lungs, and arteries from the many small warp fields Theramod's blade generated. The aura of the biotics drifted out of the chest of the dying Elder.

Theramod smirked and said out loud, "It sort of looks like your soul is coming out of your chest, you know that?" The Elder's only response was a gurgle, as his lungs filled with blood. Satisfied that the Elder was going to die and was suffering, Theramod slowly turned to look at Kaltiak, not checking to see if he was alright; Theramod already knew he was dead. He didn't even do it to have one final look at him, but just to absorb every detail of what these bastards did to him. And he did, his eyes soaked up every single detail, from the bullet wound just above Kaltiak's left eye and the bloody rectangular imprint in the top of his skull from the butt of the Phalanx, to the pattern of the dust stains on his jacket, to the 5 large, tan, fly-like insects who were sucking up his fresh blood pooling over the stone. His eyes fell on the Kris that Kaltiak still clutched, covered in orange blood to the hilt, his mind only saw the image, but couldn't connect it to anything bigger other than the detail of the scene. Nothing was left out, it was all scorched into his memory perfectly, and he would call upon this memory to fuel The Burning Red inside that gave him life, that forced him to go on, and in return he would kill anyone who got in his way to fulfill its bloodlust.

Then Theramod ran. He ran without thinking. Without planning on how he would have to get off planet, or how he would contact the Illuminated Primacy when he did. The only thing that was in his mind was the haze of The Red. He ran even as it clouded his vision, the blood red haze creeping in from the sides of his eyes, blotting out the dull tan of the Tuchankan soil. Then everything began to fill with a dark blue.

Theramod awoke sitting in the co-pilots seat of the shuttle as it came upon the mass relay; the Rage finally pulling its fingers out Theramod's skull, and with The Red finally gone. He could now plan ahead for the days to come, as he hit the relay and set destination for the Widow System.


	3. Chapter 3 - First Impressions

Chapter 3

First Impressions

The shuttle emerged on the other side, directly in front of the relay, worst possible place if this had been a combat situation. Theramod thought to himself _I should probably practice at piloting._ Then he thought, _Or maybe I could just get The Primacy to hire a pilot for me. Though then again,_ _the Primacy probably doesn't even know any pilots to hire. The damn Hanar are so reclusive_. After about 10 minutes he finally reached The Citadel and began to head towards The Presidium's docks. Theramod gazed at the station's colossal arms extended away from the shuttle as it dove towards the ring holding all the arms together. The lights on the wards which were housed in the arms made it look like the Citadel was in flames. After the awe of seeing The Citadel which stricken Theramod anytime he comes here wore off he began to let his mind drift to try to piece together what he saw on Tuchanka. From what he could see a bunch of Humans and Batarians from The Blue Suns were working with a bunch of The Bloodpack, but why the Hell were they wearing that black armor? Well, he decided that figuring out that bullshit would be up to the Primacy. He needed a drink.

"This is Citadel flight control, identify yourself, now." A female's stern voice sounded over the radio, she was probably Asari.

Theramod clicked on his own radio and said as authoritatively as he could, "This is Theramod Anelay, Errant for the Illuminated Primacy requesting permission to dock." After a tense 15 seconds Theramod got permission and headed towards an empty docking bay near the Presidium Commons. _Okay, let's just get this thing on the ground before I crash the fucker. _ Theramod slowly and carefully maneuvered the shuttle into the bay. Thankfully it was empty aside from a few Citadel security guards on routine patrol. He wasn't very steady and nearly drifted into a wall. Finally he got control of it and smashed down crooked on the nearest landing pad. The patrol of C-Sec going by turned to look at what was causing the commotion, and after a split second they began to draw the M-15 Vindicators from their backs. Theramod without thinking quickly pressed the button to blackout the shuttles windshield. _I really should've done that before flying in here… _He wondered if they noticed that his passenger was a corpse. He looked to his left and cringed, it was pretty bad. The late pilot had one side of his head blown clean out, his grey-matter plastered all over the side window. The front of his armor was covered in vivid red blood, as was the pilot's side of the windshield. A voice rang out, "Exit the shuttle and put your hands behind your head."

"Shit." Theramod cursed to himself, got up and pressed the door release, and raised his hands to the back of his head, wincing a little bit; his head wound was still very tender. His mind briefly flashed back to Kaltiak, laying there on the tan stone of the fort. He would've remembered the good times they had together, but The Burning Red had already scorched those memories into a fading black mark in his mind. He stepped out of the shuttle.

"FREEZE!" one of the C-Sec officers shouted at him, "HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!" They all had their rifles trained on him.

"They're already there, assholes!" Theramod shouted back defiantly. "Can I talk to one of your officers? I just really want to get this misunderstanding over with so I can relax for a minute before having to deal with the fucking jellyfish."

"Get down on your knees!" the man in the font of the 3 C-Sec officers shouted.

"Come on man, chill out!" Theramod said, "It's just a piece of merc scum. That body is no worse than if I had a dead Varren in that seat. No need to arrest me, we'll get this sorted out…"

"Get. Down. On. The Ground." The lead officer said again, stressing every syllable, his voice laced with menace that he tried too hard to put there.

Theramod chuckled to himself and said with genuine mirth in his voice, "You guys should really back off before I get angry."

"If you do not comply we will have to open fire." The officer shouted back in reply.

"I'm Theramod Anelay, you sure you're doing the right procedure for an Errant of the Illuminated Primacy?" Theramod thought for a second, remembering how tight lipped the Hanar are about the Errants. They're the Primacy's personal scalpel of Drell assassins, the best of the best that the Hanar can get, able to infiltrate almost anything, reach out and touch any target. Of course they're top secret. Only the Council knows about them, and the head of C-Sec, which makes it kinda hard to get your special privileges from the lower ranks. "Though, of course you probably don't know what an Errant is." Theramod said, just a hint of the anger building up inside showing in his voice.

"Last warning, get down. Now!" the C-Sec officer shouted. He clicked the safety off on his rifle, as did the 2 others.

Theramod took his hands off the top of his head. "Alright, if you morons want to play this fucking game, I can play this fucking game!" Theramod yelled, his coarse voice rang out in the empty shuttle bay, the rage in it making an almost solid wall of sound that stunned the officers. They hesitated for a second, and then opened fire. The bullets shattered on impact with the swirling blood-red torrent of biotics that surrounded Theramod shielding him. Theramod then flung a throw field at the officers, it made contact with the abdomen of the big-mouthed officer who was shouting the orders about 5 seconds ago. The crimson torrent of force collapsed the officers ribcage and tossed him like a ragdoll back into the far wall of the shuttle bay, and he crumpled to the ground. The other 2 officers were tossed to the ground by the 1600 Newtons of force the field gave off, bouncing helplessly away.

"You guys done being assholes!?" Theramod yelled at the broken bodies who were once proud officers. They're groans of pain proved they were at least still breathing. "Fuck…" Theramod said to himself, exasperated, as he walked outside the shuttle bay. He casually strolled to the nearest C-Sec station.

Theramod walked into the C-Sec Outpost in the Presidium Commons. The secretary, a human female with shoulder length blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, didn't look up from her screen. Theramod could see through the display of the cheap holographic display of the computer. The human was playing solitaire.

Theramod strolled up to the desk, half slammed his hands on the desk to get the woman's attention as he leaned on the desk and asked very casually, "Could I get in contact with a lieutenant or something, I just had a small quarrel over a dead passenger I had in my shuttle in one of the shuttle bays, and I severely mauled 3 officers. They tried to arrest me and they really, really shouldn't have."

The secretary finally looked up with a shocked expression on her face and stuttered, "E...excuse me?"

Theramod just groaned and said "You heard me, so could you put me in contact with a high ranking officer so we can go to the Hanar embassy and get this all worked out? It was all a big misunderstanding." The secretary, who apparently was actually an officer, stood up drawing the M-3 Predator from her holster. Before she could level it at him he knocked it out of her hand with a small ball of biotic force. "Okay, how come to you C-Sec officers 'I'm a special agent, let me speak to an officer.' Means 'I'm a dangerous psychopath; shoot me or else I kill you all!'?" Just escort me to the Hanar embassies and we can call Executioner Pallin, so I don't have to hurt anymore of you fucking idiots." The officer looked at Theramod her eyes wild with fear. Her only response was a nod in compliance, and without even looking at her gun, she quickly strolled out of the outpost, Theramod following her. They walked in utter silence until they reached the Hanar embassy.

As they entered, they saw the single Hanar Diplomat, its tentacle skirting across the keyboard of the computer as its three fingers on that hand typed rapidly. The computer and its stand were the only furniture in the entire room.

The officer that "escorted" Theramod to the embassy began to speak, but Theramod held up a hand to silence her, then in his best command voice said "I got this. Just go back to your outpost." The officer almost ran out of the room.

The Hanar in its soft, almost ghostly voice asked "Theramod, what was that about? Are you in trouble with the Citadel Security again?"

Theramod said, "Yeah, I am Delcantus. I had to hijack a shuttle to get off of Tuchanka. I had the dead pilot sitting in the front seat. A couple of C-Sec officers saw it and tried to arrest me. I tossed them around with my biotics Could you send a message to Pallin and get that cleared up for me…and you should probably make sure they're sending some medics down to the shuttle bay too."

Delcantus, the Hanar diplomat, sighed, and scolded Theramod lightly, "Why can you not control your temper Theramod?"

Theramod angrily said "Well, I just watched my brother get shot yesterday. That would normally piss someone off."

Delcantus was completely silent for a moment, and then began typing. After about 30 seconds, he stopped and spoke again, "This one is so sorry to hear that. This one has just sent a message to Executioner Pallin, who should clear any charges from your name. But before we discuss anything else it would like a report about your mission to Tuchanka."

Theramod, deciding that starting from the beginning would take up precious time he could use to get a drink and wind down, began from when he and Kaltiak left camp, "We set out from Clan Urdnot's camp, and about a half an hour later we were jumped by 6 Krogan and captured. They were wearing Bloodpack style armor, but it was painted black. We were taken, in cages to a fort about 3 hours away, definitely not the one that the activity was originally reported in. It was abandoned. We were ordered out of the boxes, where Kaltiak engaged in battle with the Krogan. He killed one, but was shot by an older Krogan that had Geth manufactured Battlemaster armor. I dispatched the remaining Krogan, and fled and hid out in a crashed Tomkah and slept. The next day I went to the same fort I was taken to the day before to recover the body, but by this time mercs had set up in the fort. They were a mix of Krogan, Vorcha, Batarian, and Human. The Krogan and Vorcha wore Bloodpack style armor, while the Batarians and Humans wore Blue Suns style armor. The armor was all painted black though. I assaulted the base and stole a shuttle, now I'm here. Any questions?"

Delcantus was silent for a few more seconds, and then spoke up, "This is most troubling. The Illuminated Primacy had intercepted other reports about mercenary groups matching the description of what you saw, Blood Pack and Blue Suns seemingly working together under a black flag" Delcantus opened up some documents on his computer, and then spoke again. "This one has another mission for you. You will be meeting with a contact that this one has that is employed in a mining facility on the Planet Eingana in the Omega System. A few days ago he reported that the mine owners were in contact with a merc group wearing black armor."

Rage flashed through Theramod's eyes. "Do you really expect me to pilot myself to a planet in the Terminus Systems, and investigate more merc activity by myself right after the last mission!?" Theramod almost yelled and Delcantus.

Delcantus responding patiently, "Of course not, this one is going to assemble a team of two or three specialists for you and acquire a corvette class ship for your use. The computer on the ship will have the coordinates for the planet, along with the mission details. This one should have everything arranged tomorrow. The ship and supplies will be waiting for you in Docking Bay 13, but before you leave return here."

Theramod scoffed and said under his breath "Whatever…" and walked out of the embassy. He took a cab to the Zakera Ward. He walked to the Dark Star Lounge and walked inside. He was greeted by flashing lights and horrible music._ Goddamnit, why can't they just have regular bars on this hunk of metal?_ He strolled over to the bar set up in the middle and sat down on a stool at the end of the bar. The bartender, a Turian, walked over.

"What'll you have?" The Turian asked briskly.

Theramod thought about the past 48 hours, and decided he'd get a jump start on getting smashed, "I'll take a shot of Ryncol."

The Turian grinned. "Hope you like the feeling of drinking glass." He pulled out a glass tube of green liquid and poured it into a shot glass until it was almost overflowing. Theramod raised the glass and tossed it back in one swig. He slammed the shot glass on the table and braced himself as the alcohol concentration made the world around him swirl like a cyclone. He felt the burn all the way to his stomach. His eyes watered a bit, but he blinked it away almost immediately.

The Turian's mouth opened a little in shock, he then grinned extended his hand to Theramod. Theramod grinned back, took his hand and shook it. "I've never seen anybody but a Krogan take a shot of Ryncol so well. Anything else you want, or are you good?"

Theramod grinned, "That was only the appetizer my good man! Bring me a pitcher of Batarian ale! I've got a lot to forget," Theramod marked with bittersweet mirth. The Turian brought his order, and then walked off to serve the other patrons, leaving Theramod alone with his alcohol. He reached over the counter and grabbed a second glass, filled both glasses, and slid one over in front of the empty seat beside him, seeing if anyone would see it as an invitation. He didn't really want to drink alone.

It was now, with nothing to distract his mind, that the first pangs of loss hit him. Kaltiak was dead; he had already accepted that fact. He accepted it the second the bullet made contact. But now he was just missing the things that they'll never get to do again. Mostly they just sat around, drank, and talked. They'd discuss just about anything; jokes they heard, rumors from the Terminus Systems, philosophy, specs on whatever the latest weaponry was, the hilarious look on the face of whatever poor bastard they killed that day, and sometimes they'd compare themselves to other great fighters. They discussed if they could've survived Eden Prime, or if they could've helped during the Battle of the Citadel against the Geth. They talked about how they could take down Krogan kill squads, or Asari Commando units. In every case they were so drunk by the end of the talk that they decided they'd always win. Though the thing that got to Theramod the most was now Kaltiak wouldn't even know how his own parents died. _I should've just told him when it happened. Now he's gone to the grave not knowing. Nobody deserves that, no matter how worthless their parents were. _Theramod thought, and the sorrow began to tighten Theramod's throat like a chokehold. He took a swig right from the pitcher. The alcohol washed away the taste of ashes, just as it always had done.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" a voice asked from behind Theramod. The tone of the voice confused him, as it sounded almost exactly like a Krogan's voice, just higher pitched, and it had a sense of intelligence and politeness to it. Theramod turned towards the voice and was startled when he was eye to eye with a Vorcha. The first thing that caught Theramod's attention was how strange the Vorcha's eyes were. Instead of the normal red, they were a reddish-purple. Many of the veins that would normally have run over this Vorcha's pale white skin were smoother and were mostly nonvisible. His skin even seemed to have a slight blue hue, shining from underneath the grey upper skin, barely visible, and only where the light hit perfectly. Instead of wearing the primitive straps most Vorcha wore, he wore an expensive looking leather combat jacket and combat leggings, which were mostly black with some orange trimming. The vest had a single pauldron on the right shoulder, with a sleeve only extending almost to the elbow, instead of to the left like the left sleeve. On his left forearm he had 2 words written in Asari script. He wore a polite, genuine smile on his face, and his sharp fangs were cleaned and pearly white. Theramod, stunned by this pleasantly different Vorcha, hesitated with his answer. The Vorcha's grin quickly turned into an apologetic frown. "Sorry to bother you sir." He quickly said and began to turn to walk away.

"Hold on a second," Theramod quickly said, and the Vorcha turned back around. "You can sit here. I would enjoy the company. I just wasn't expecting to see a Vorcha here on the Citadel. You just caught me by surprise, that's all."

The Vorcha walked back over and sat down on the stool beside Theramod. "I get that a lot," the Vorcha said, "Then again, I could say the same thing about you as well. People do not really see many Drell on the Citadel either. Are you on business for the Hanar, or are you just a traveler?"

Theramod replied with purposely forced remorse, "Unfortunately the Hanar have their tentacles wrapped around my balls."

The Vorcha let out a short laugh that sounded more like a Krogan being kicked in the quad than a laugh, and then said "That sounds like a weird pornography video."

Theramod was stunned for just a moment, and then had a good, long laugh. The first he had in a while. He didn't really know why it was so funny; it just was at the time. "I wish it was like that so I could video tape it and actually make some money off of the situation. Though then again, I can buy anything I want with Primacy funds and just pass it off as a necessity to complete my mission. Speaking of which, want a drink? The Primacy's picking up the tab."

The Vorcha nodded, "That sounds wonderful. Thank you." He sat down and took a swig from the filled glass.

"Well now that we both have a drink I guess it's time for the introductions. I'm Theramod." Theramod said, and held out his hand to the Vorcha.

The Vorcha took his hand and shook it, quickly saying "My name is Kenny."

Theramod looked at The Vorcha puzzled. "Kenny," he asked, "Isn't that a human name?"

Kenny shrugged. "Yeah, normally it is. I do not really remember my name though. It was Ken, something…so I just started using Kenny. It also sounds just a bit less savage than your typical Vorcha name, don't you think?"

"How does someone forget their own name?" Theramod inquired, genuinely curious.

Kenny sighed, he'd answered this question a thousand times. Everyone needed an explanation for everything. _I have a human name. So what? I can't remember my name? So what? Why does everyone need to push and pry?_ He picked up the glass and took a swig. "I was taken from my clan on Wrill by some Krogan who were with the Bloodpack when I was a couple months old. I was too young for them to use, so they abandoned me. I was picked up by some Asari who were passing by Tuchanka. I can't remember my whole name, so I started using Kenny."

Theramod listened intently, and kept his face blank. "Damn," was all he said, and he shook his head as he let out a small half sigh, half chuckle.

Kenny took the gesture as disinterest. He quickly jumped to anger, and spoke venomously, "Though I guess I should not expect someone else to display any sympathy for a Vorcha."

Theramod quickly spoke up, realizing he had upset his drinking buddy for the time being. "Sorry. That's just what I do when I don't know what to say. That must have been terrible to have your entire life torn away. I've been through something similar; I know what it's like."

Kenny realized that his hostility was misplaced and tried awkwardly to mend the conversation, "I apologize, I just agitated when I'm talking about the past. It's like a…what is the human expression? An albatross around my neck? If you have been through the same, you know what I am trying to say…"

Theramod decided that these kind of conversations were best to have as drunk as possible, and chugged his glass down and began refilling it as he answered, "Sorry, but I don't. My past is the furthest thing from my mind. The way I look at it, why worry about the past? It's the future that you have to face, and since you can't control that either you should just think about the present. Always works for me."

Kenny was silent for a second, regarding what Theramod said thoughtfully. It made sense, but… "It cannot possibly be that simple." Kenny thought aloud, not even realizing he was saying it.

Theramod spoke cheerfully. "Actually it is. Kill enough people and drink enough good booze and you can forget anything. Anger helps too. Nothing can stop bad thoughts like a good old fashioned dose of pure blood rage to numb the senses."

Kenny chuckled a bit, and then spoke admiringly, "Spoken like a true psychopath. I would not mind following a man like you into battle. I doubt I would even have to do participate in the fighting. You would probably just cut through everything like a maelstrom."

Theramod jumped at the opportunity to have at least one bearable person on his team, he had no idea who the Primacy would hire, probably a bunch of stuck up new recruits. "Funny you should mention that. I'm hiring, if you're interested."

Kenny paused for a moment. He wasn't exactly sure what to make of the offer. On one hand, Theramod seemed like an entertaining person, or at the very least someone you could share a drink with, but on the other hand everything about him seemed to radiate with a sense of a fury, locked deep down inside. His look, his temperament, even his smile was heated from within by the deeply rooted anger. After a brief pause, he decided finally to accept. Knowing enough about the Hanar, he decided that payment from the Primacy would be substantial, and if things went bad, there were worse ways to die than be gutted by a crazy Drell. But he wanted to seem more reserved than what his instincts said, so he decided to ask a question first, to seem more business like, "What kind of work would we be doing?"

"Want the abridged version or the long version?" Theramod asked.

Kenny shrugged, "The abridged version will do just fine."

Theramod smirked "We're going to jump across a couple planets and kill an ass-ton of Krogan, Batarians, Vorcha, you know, just typical merc scum." Theramod realized he might have offended his new companion and quickly tried to cover his tracks, "Well, for the most part at least. There's also going to be a few humans thrown in, so expect to put a bullet into any race." Theramod nervously reached behind his head and scratched at the gash on the back of his head.

Kenny, taking no offense to Theramod's statement, or at least appearing to not have, grinned and said enthusiastically, "That sounds like a job that would suit myself, short and straightforward. When are we setting out"

"Hopefully tomorrow. The Primacy is going to throw together a squad for me. They're also going to supply us with a Corvette class ship, and a couple crates of weaponry," Theramod grinned, "And they're also going to be paying a certain merc Vorcha a modest sum of 250,000 credits for his services. I'll try and write it off as an expense for a tour of The Council's favorite bathrooms on The Citadel, just to fuck with them…and because they really don't allow me to hire mercenaries of my own choosing. They like to select their own"

Kenny's face drooped into a worried frown, "Won't that anger the Primacy?" He wasn't sure how anybody could get away with taking advantage of funds entrusted to them, especially when he was breaking guidelines. Not only that, he is mocking them! Kenny wasn't sure what he was getting himself into; he was used to being around rebels, just not when they're biting the hand that feeds them.

Theramod brushed the question off, "They're very forgiving. And besides, they'd rather put up with my shit than lose one of their best."

Kenny was starting to become skeptical of what Theramod was saying. If he was one of the best why would he have to hire mercenaries? Should he not have his own team? "Why do you not have a regular team? I thought Special Forces of any race worked either alone or in tight-knit groups."

Theramod didn't want to talk about his brother anymore, he just wanted to tuck the memories away somewhere and forget about them, but he spoke up anyways, "Well, I always used to work alone or with my brother…but he died recently, and I need extra backup to complete my assignment."

Kenny regarded his answer in silence for a moment. "Alright, that is a good enough answer for me," Kenny refilled his glass, and chugged it. "I am going to head back to my motel now. I have to perform some maintenance on my handguns before I can travel with you; I am currently in the process of modifying them. Where should I meet you tomorrow?"

"Docking bay 13. That's where the Hanar are having the ship docked. You might also bump into the rest of the team there. I'll meet you there sometime in the morning."

"Okay, I understand. I will be there" Kenny stood up and took a couple steps before turning back and saying casually, "It was a pleasure meeting you Theramod." And with that, the unique Vorcha disappeared through the crowd leaving Theramod alone again with his pitcher of ale…which wasn't exactly the best thing for his sobriety.

Two hours later Theramod stumbled into the doorway of the first motel, so drunk he could barely speak. The proprietor of the ritzy motel was going to throw him back out onto the streets, but luckily a Vorcha there claimed that Theramod was with him. In just a few minutes Theramod was in a comfortable motel bed, completely out cold. A few feet away the Vorcha's hands worked endlessly over the various equipment scattered over the makeshift workbench. Hours later, when everything was optimized, the workbench became his bed. He tucked everything into his rucksack and stretched out on the hard metal. He worried that it would take him forever to fall asleep on the hard surface after getting used to the luxury of a bed. Despite this, sleep over took him before he could realize it, as though his body was eager to get itself ready for tomorrow as well.


End file.
